


A New Scandal

by Caedmon



Series: Advent [13]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005), The Thick of It (TV)
Genre: Christmas, F/M, Paparazzi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-13
Updated: 2016-12-13
Packaged: 2018-09-08 08:44:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8838031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caedmon/pseuds/Caedmon
Summary: PM John Smith has big plans for Christmas...plans which fluster his party's spin doctor, Malcolm Tucker.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Evolution of a Scandal](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1071071) by [RishiDiams](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RishiDiams/pseuds/RishiDiams). 



> This was prompted by RishiDiams. She hypothesized that John's spin doctor would not be happy when he found out that John was proposing to Rose. We both love Malcolm Tucker, and this happened. 
> 
> If you haven't read Evolution of a Scandal, you need to do so immediately. It's phenomenal. 
> 
> Rated T for swearing. Malcolm has a potty mouth. :D
> 
> Day 13 of ['Advent'.](http://archiveofourown.org/series/596995)

John heard him before he saw him. Malcolm Tucker’s voice was difficult to miss, especially when it was raised, like now. And even if you managed to miss the voice and tone, it was impossible to tune out the swearing. 

_”Where the fuck is he?”_

Some hapless staffer apparently answered in a normal tone, which wasn’t good enough for Malcolm. _”Nevermind. You just go back to being a useless lump of shit. I’ll find him myself.”_

John took a deep breath and leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers over his abdomen. It wouldn’t be long now -

_CRASH_

The door to his office flew open and slammed against the wall behind it, but John didn’t flinch, simply gave a sardonic grin. 

“Malcolm. Good of you to come by and see me.”

The man in the doorway held a newspaper in one hand and the other hand was braced against the door. He leaned forward just a bit, huffing through his nose, his eyebrows furrowed into a furious line. 

“What the fuck did you do?” he demanded in a low, dangerous voice. 

“Do sit down,” John offered with a wave of his hand, unperturbed.

“ _What. The fuck. Did you do_?”

John raised an eyebrow at the silver-haired man, a wordless challenge, but Malcolm was too intensely, incandescently furious to notice. “Have a seat, Malcolm.”

Malcolm ignored the offer, still staring, breathing still labored, eyes still furious. 

“Prefer to stand, ta,” he snarled. 

John shrugged. “Have it your way,” he said, leaning further back into his chair and kicking his feet up onto the desk. “Catch the door if you don’t mind, though.”

The spin doctor looked as if he minded very much indeed, but John didn’t drop the little half-smile he wore. His life was nearly perfect for the first time in as long as he could remember, and when he proposed to Rose on Christmas morning, it would be one step closer to perfection. John was _happy_ , and he’d be damned if he was going to let this miserable, huffy wraith of a man bring him down from his cloud. 

After a few moments’ worth of showdown, Malcolm actually _smiled_ \- dangerously. He straightened, tilting his head to either side to crack his neck, and his entire demeanor softened. He closed the door as requested.

John wasn’t the least concerned by the abrupt turnaround.

“You’ve been busy,” Malcolm commented, bringing the newspaper in his hands behind his back and taking a casual step into the large, sumptuous office. 

“I have,” John agreed without budging. “Busy man, you know. Lots to do. Government won’t run itself.”

Malcolm muttered something under his breath, then gave another dangerous smile - all teeth and no joy, like a shark. “That’s not what I meant,” he gritted out.

John raised an eyebrow again. He had a shrewd idea what the other man was talking about, but didn’t let on, deciding that fucking with Malcolm was too much fun - and a chance he rarely got. 

“Oh? It’s not?”

“No. It’s not.”

“Are you referring to my trip to Germany last week to meet with the Prime Minister?”

“No.”

“Perhaps you’re talking about the economic summit that Great Britain will be hosting next month.”

“No,” Malcolm growled. 

“The immigration bill?” John tried. Malcolm didn’t answer, and he went on. “The oil tariff? Staffing problems? Discord in the House of Lords?”

“ _You know what I’m fucking talking about, you prick!_ ”

John grinned, unconcerned with the shouted insult and more than a little delighted that he’d provoked the other man to a name-calling outburst. That victory won, however, the game was getting old.

“I do, do I.” It was a statement, not a question, and it should have been a warning to Malcolm that the playfulness of his mood was wearing thin. 

“You went _shopping_ ,” Malcolm accused him. “ _Ring_ shopping.”

“That I did,” he answered cheerfully, a bit relieved to know he’d been right all along and there wasn’t some other, actual crisis that needed his attention. 

Malcolm slammed the newspaper he’d been holding down on the desk, flipping it open and pointing to the front page with a finger that was shaking with rage. John sat up, finally taking him seriously, and leaned forward to read. 

The photo under Malcolm’s finger was grainy, but clear enough. It showed, through a window, John standing in a jewelry shop, looking down at a selection of something being offered by the sales associate. There could be no refuting where he was - the shop’s name and logo was clearly visible in the foreground. Nor would there be any denying that the man in the photo was him - his distinctive and well-known face was probably the clearest bit of the photo. 

The headline, however, was what really alarmed him. “Carol of the (Wedding) Bells? PM John Smith shops for a different kind of holiday bauble, leading some to ask if there is about to be a new First Lady at 10 Downing.”

“The wife of the Prime Minister is not known as the ‘First Lady’,” he muttered absently. 

Malcolm’s eyes goggled and he sputtered from across the desk. “That- _That’s_ what you took away from this!?”

“No, no, of course not.” John waved a reassuring hand in his general direction, then went back to the article. He’d known he wouldn’t get away with the trip scot-free, but he’d expected rumors at most. Easily dismissable, easily deflected. The press had been speculating about he and Rose getting engaged since he’d brought her home to Downing two and a half months before. To his relief, Rose had reacted to being in the media spotlight with absolute grace and aplomb, and she’d paid them no mind. It just happened that the rumors were true this one time. Still, he’d planned on deflecting and/or ignoring them, pooh-poohing any speculation in order to maintain the surprise for Rose. 

He hadn’t expected there to be art. The picture in front of him rattled him, and his mind reeled for a way to keep this away from Rose. 

“You have to get a lid on this,” he told Malcolm, hoping that his voice didn’t betray the hint of desperation he felt.

“It’s true then?”

“Is what true?”

“You’re marrying her?”

John nodded. “If she’ll have me, yes.”

Malcolm turned away from him, looking towards the ceiling and raising his arms in a silent beseeching of some god, then bringing his hands down to cover his face. He let out a huge breath, then let his head slump forward. “Jesus fuck,” he muttered from behind his hands. 

“Problem?”

The other man didn’t answer right away, just took slow, deep breaths. After a few moments, he shook his head. “I didn’t sign on for this shit.”

“You’re the party’s spin man. You signed on for every kind of shit that the party could throw at you.”

“The _Prime Minister_ marrying a _hooker_?!”

John was around the desk like a flash, the front of Malcolm’s shirt balled in his fist, his snarling face very, very close to Malcolm’s startled-yet-defiant one. 

“You listen to me and listen well, Mr. Tucker. You’re good at what you do. Damned good. You got me elected twice when I was sure I'd never darken the door of Downing Street. That’s why I put up with your bullshit and your attitude and your verbal abuse towards every living thing. But as God is my witness, if I hear you say one more negative word about the woman who is going to be _my wife_ , I will have your mouthy head on a pike and the rest of you can fucking rot in the Thames. Is that clear?”

Malcolm didn’t answer, just gave him a fulminating glare. John matched him, and after a tense moment, Malcolm relented in a tone dripping with sweetness, “Crystal clear, Prime Minister.”

John released him with a little more force than was needed, compelling the spin doctor to take a step back to steady himself, then he circled his desk and sat back in his chair, giving no outward appearance of the furious bollocking he had unleashed only ninety seconds ago.

“So what are you going to do?” He kicked his feet back up onto the desk and laced his fingers over his abdomen again.

Malcolm looked up from smoothing his shirt out with his hands, his eyes disbelieving. “The fuck do you mean, ‘what am I going to do’?”

“I mean, ‘ _what are you going to do'_? How are you going to spin this?”

“I have no intention to spin anything.”

“You’d better,” John warned. “I don’t want this getting back to Rose.”

“There’s no way to keep it from her!” Malcolm protested, and John knew he was right. Not that he was going to admit such a thing. 

“Bury it,” he commanded. “Come up with something else for the press to fixate on. Anything. I don’t care. Just...something.”

“Why are you so intent that this story go away? It's out there now. If we've got to deal with it at all, I think we should play it up. Like a bull in a china shop, yeah? Just embrace the fucking destruction. It raises your approval ratings a good five points, especially among women. People love the idea of you as some fucking romantic sap, hard as that is to believe.”

John gave him a withering look. “What man wants his girlfriend to know when he’s proposing? Honestly. I realize that this party is your _entire life_ , but there should be _some_ social awareness rattling around in there somewhere.”

Malcolm snorted at the words 'social awareness', and John was sure he bit back a nasty comment. Instead, he said, “So you want me to bury this story so that your-” John raised a warning eyebrow and Malcolm sidestepped. “... _Girlfriend_... doesn’t find out that it’s true?”

“Sums it up, yeah.”

Malcolm pulled his face in frustration, then blew out a huge breath. “Fine. You want this gift horse to go away, I’ll make that happen. Don’t talk to anyone about it - and I mean _anyone_ other than me. When are you proposing?”

“Christmas morning.” 

“That’s the day after tomorrow.”

“Yeah?” John challenged.

Malcolm stared at him for a minute before he went on, as if explaining something very simple to a young child. “You’ve been with this girl for three months.”

John gave him a condescending look. “You know better.”

“I know everything, more than I want to, and my job is the _public’s perception_. As far as they know, you’ve been with this girl for three months.”

“It’s been longer than that, and I don’t feel like waiting. What’s it matter to you?”

“It doesn’t. It’ll actually bring about a huge boost in your popularity, for the most part.”

“Good to hear.”

“Although her… _past_ will continue to crop up every now and again like the world's craggiest jack-in-the-box. We'll have to deal with it.”

John sat up and shuffled some papers around, indicating he was done with the conversation. “I rather think you can handle that. It’s what we pay you for, after all.”

Malcolm shook his head and muttered something extremely disparaging, but John didn't quite catch it and Malcolm didn't elaborate. He blew out another breath, reaching down to grab the newspaper he’d slammed down earlier. “I’ll arrange for an interview after first of the year. There’s no way to put it off any longer,” he cut John off with a raised hand. “The press has been begging for her since you brought her home, and now she’ll be your fiancee. That’s too much for the public to digest without a word from you. There has to be an interview where the public can get to know her a bit and you two can announce your...engagement then.”

“Alright, fine,” John agreed with little grace. “I’ll ask Rose.”

“Rose doesn’t have a choice.”

“Rose _always_ has a choice,” he snapped, then mellowed again. Two days. In two days, he’d be engaged to the love of his life. His voice was kinder when he spoke again. “I’m sure Rose will be amenable to an interview after turn of the year. Is that all?”

“I’ll need to work with her, coach her a bit before the interview. The story we’ve built around her needs to be practiced if we’re going to keep her past employment history a secret, but that can wait until after the holidays.” 

“Good to hear, anything else?”

“No. Just don’t talk to anyone about this until after she’s said yes.”

“Not a problem. Thank you, Malcolm.”

Malcolm gave a curt nod, then strode to the door and left. 

John blew out his cheeks and leaned back in his chair again. After a moment, he picked up his phone and started to text. Rose was shopping with her mother, but they should be wrapping up soon. He hoped so, anyway. He needed to see her. 

~ _Lunch?_

After a few minutes, the reply came. 

~ _Sounds good. Just dropping mum back at her flat. Chips?_

He laughed out loud. His precious girl was unpredictable in a lot of ways, but never when it came to her favorite foods. 

~ _Whatever you want, love._


End file.
